


Take It Out On Me

by jellyfishandtuna



Series: A Pound of Flesh [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes BBC - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, Epic Bromance, F/M, Family Bonding, Gen, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishandtuna/pseuds/jellyfishandtuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>In a world made of madness, greed and betrayal. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are thrust into a life they would have never imagined. Through it all, their friendship takes a beating. Love is lost, found and regained in the strangest of places and the bonds that are made are stronger than anything that could be broken.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Take It Out On Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is from the actually role plays on my John Watson character site. I decided to take them and make them into an actual story. No Johnlock but it has a mass amount of bromance and bonding moments between Sherlock and John. Sorry folks. Deal with it or don't read it.
> 
> It takes place a year after HLV.
> 
> This isn't betaed or brit-picked. All mistakes are my own.

It would start out like any other day, normal as far as normal was concerned in my life. Little did I know that the events that would transpire would almost lead to my death. 

Or would it?

Leaving 221B that morning, nothing seemed to be out of place. People coming and going, the smell of food coming from the small cafe that was sited underneath the flat itself. Taking a deep breathe, hands in his pockets, John Watson made his way down the street. Sherlock had been MIA for a few weeks but honestly, that was nothing new. He had a habit of disappearing for days, even weeks at a time. From time to time, when this would happen, Lestrade would call on John to come over and give his medical opinion on a case. The past few days, had been boring to say the least. Apparently, crime had decided to take a few off days. 

When your mind seems to be a million miles away, you don’t notice that you’re being followed and in all respect, it wasn't that far of a walk to where he and Mary made their home. John figured that the fresh air might actually do him good. Couldn't hurt right? 

“Doctor Watson?” It was a voice that seemed to hiss behind him. “If you run, your blood will paint the sidewalk.” John couldn't do nothing but keep the same pace, hands in his pockets. That’s when the car pulled up beside him. Dark tinted windows, chrome runners. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for Mycroft’s car. “Please stop and get in the backseat.” Nerves of steel kick in at this moment. Not even breaking a sweat when the cold barrel of a pistol is pressed against the side of his neck. “I insist.” The people walking the streets seemed to ignore what was going on, most of them knew who he was and danger seemed to be drawn to him like a magnet. 

“You will forgive this.” The person that was sitting beside him spoke as the tip of a needle replaced the gun. “It’s for your own protection, John.” God, why did that voice so sound familiar to him but the face was hidden from view. The drugs kicked in and John’s head fell limp against the window. Never to know the location of where he was going.

  
===============

11:00 p.m

===============  


“You have to know by now.”

There was that same sweet voice. John’s body was incredibly uncomfortable. Whatever he was laying on was hard, unforgiving. Trying to get his eyes to focus was hard at the moment. Nothing more than the swaying of a single light hanging from the ceiling his only means of seeing what was really going on. 

“You're in a warehouse, John.” 

“I gathered that much.” Groaning as his head fell back against what he could now deduce to be stairs, metal. From the ridges that were made into them, he was somewhere on the upper east side. “If you keep fighting the drugs, they will make you sick. I’m sure you don’t wish to lose your lunch right now.” 

“Mary?”

John’s questioning came out with some mass amount of confusion. His fingers going to fiddle with the ring that seemed to have disappeared from his finger. “It’s safe. We made sure to send it to the one person that we know won’t lose it.” John tried to raise his head but it didn't work. Making him nothing more than dizzy and sick feeling. “What… what did you give me?” 

“Let’s just say that it was a stronger concentration of the same thing that Irene gave Sherlock once upon a time.” How could this person know that. Was it in his blog? “Whatever you’re doing, it isn't going to work? People will know that I’m gone?” Taking the rail in a fist, John pulled himself up into a seated position. “No, sweetheart. They won’t.” The face that was coming into view, starting to get his focus now. “Mary.” The feeling of something blunt is smacked across the right side of John’s face, knocking him out cold. “I’m sorry, love. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  
{ text: if you ever wish to see John Watson alive again, come to the warehouse in District 5. Bring no one else. } MM  


John’s body was packed off the stairs, chains tied around him, blood dripping down his face from the cut on his forehead. Mary could do nothing more than watch with cold eyes. If anyone of these men suspected that her emotion was no less than ice cold, they would kill him. “You did the right thing.” It was almost a sing song tone that called out to her from the darkness. “To get to Sherlock Holmes, one must first get to John Watson.”

Mary turned to face the voice. “What will happen to him?” There was a sinister chuckle that broke the moment of silence. “Oh, I’ll end up killing him. Just to watch the great Mr. Holmes be brought to his knees once and for all. Oh how I would love to dissect his brain. It must be a tangled mess.” John groans from his perch, feet barely touching the floor. Mary shoots him a look but nothing more than distance shines through. Beneath the layers, her heart was truly breaking. She had no idea the distance this man was willing to go to get revenge. 

And she was about to find out.

 

The weeks in Belgium had been hectic and cruel with both the case and the weather he had to deal with, the consulting detective had been sent there by Mycroft who felt the problem they had was not quite enough for his effort and so sent his younger brother to do the work. In this case Sherlock didn't mind so much, however he did give his older sibling some annoyances along the way to spite him for it. The case was finally solved, and flying home he got back very late one night, dropping his bag on the landing as he figured he'd get to it later. Walking up the stairs he came into the flat, making a bee-line for the couch as he flopped onto it, making a mental note to never go to Bruxelles again.

It took him some time before he realized he would have to get up again, mainly because he was hungry and since Mrs. Hudson hadn't known he'd be back then he'd have to either cook or go out. Grumbling some he sat up again and ran a hand through his hair, hating the life without a flatmate to wake or drag to odd corners of London. Since his return from the grave life at the flat was by far more dull then he could recall, before staging his death he always had someone there to bounce his ideas off of, to make sure that he wasn't getting in over his head, and someone who would give him a reality check when it came to other people's concerns.

Standing he reached for his coat again, hearing the tone of his phone he sighed and picked it up, John not able to sleep? Mycroft wanting him for another case?

_If you ever wish to see John Watson alive again, come to the warehouse in District 5. Bring no one else. - MM_

It was in reading this that Sherlock's heart nearly stopped in fear, he had only been back in London for an hour and already someone had anticipated him and kidnapped his best friend. He could speculate that MM meant Mary Morstan, though she was now Mary Watson, and considering that she hadn't contacted him about John's disappearance or any sort of trouble to him then he had to conclude she was somehow involved... but this was only a fleeting thought in his mind for the moment as he ran down the stairs, his coat and scarf clumsily brought over his shoulders and neck as he dashed out the door.

Taking a cab to the district in question he found the warehouse, sending the cab away after the driver had offered to wait. Sherlock didn't expect that he'd be there for a short time, and even if so he doubted that a cab would be useful in getting out safely. Stepping into the great open doors he glanced around, only a few lights illuminating the place as he rose a brow, trying to deduce what he could on where John could be and who it was that wanted him there so badly.

"I got your text. And I did have other things I wanted to attend to so I do hope that you won't drag this on."

He chimed out into the echoing large space, keeping as alert as ever and though his heart was racing and his mind buzzing with questions as to his friend's welfare he dared not to show it.

 

"Please, Mary. Don't do this." 

It's a silent whisper in a flood of darkness. A plea. It pings at the very fabric of her heart as she takes a stance in front of John. Nothing more than a pistol in her right hand being clenched for dear life. "It's too late for me, John. It was only a matter of time." He shakes his head, not wanting to believe a word of it. "Our life is over. You might as well come to believe it." Another blow to the head with the butt of the gun she's holding and John is knocked out. Nothing more than the chains keeping his lifeless body from falling to the floor. A tear runs from her eye, down her cheek before she hears Sherlock yelling into the warehouse.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." 

There's a teasing nature to the voice that speaks to Sherlock. One that he would know all to well. A ghost perhaps? The man that he watched shoot himself several years ago seemed to know be speaking in the darkness. Only it wasn't. All just tricks to be played.

"He isn't dead... yet." A snap of the fingers and Mary steps into the light. Cold eyes and stone as another man walks beside her. Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand. Hands are clasped together in front of him but there's ice in that smile that spreads across his face. "A careful plan." He begins. "Careful and one that has taken months. You believe that you killed Moriarty's network but in face." He steps a little closer to Sherlock. "You forgot one key player. The one that kept under that radar deduction of yours." 

Sebastian closes the gap even more between himself and Sherlock. There is mere inches between their cheeks before he speaks again. "If you wish him alive. You'd better start coming up with a plan. She isn't afraid to take his life, for me." A chuckle before Sebastian backs away, once again taking his spot beside Mary.

"Sherlock!" 

John's voice echoes through the stillness. "Whatever they want, don't do it!" Sebastian shoots Mary a look. "I hit him again." It was a whisper but still loud enough to where Sherlock would be able to here. "How was I suppose to know he'd wake up?" Sebastian growls for a brief moment. Mary hangs her head and twists, going in the direction of John's voice.

 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

If Sherlock had ever felt a chill run through his spine, a true disturbing sense of fear and nightmarish haunt then it was at this moment, the odd and soft voice that rang through the warehouse was like a time-capsule opening and sending him back to when they had first met at the pool with the same atmosphere of a wide space though not wide enough. He glanced around him almost forgetting his calm role after hearing the voice, wanting to locate it like he couldn't believe it was really there. His ears were then met by another voice, when the light was switched on he turned and froze.

Standing there was Mary Watson right next to Sebastian Moran, he couldn't believe it and he did his best to keep it masked behind his usual business-like stare as they approached him. He had indeed almost forgot Moran, though not entirely, knowing that for such a man as him Sherlock would need to bide his time instead of actively search for him. Watching them carefully he was sure that Moran had a gun even if it wasn't presented openly, he was never unarmed.

"Oh, I wouldn't quite say 'under the radar', Mr. Moran. Merely waiting for the moment you resurfaced out of the swamps you apparently lived in. And did you finally get thrown out of another casino?"

As Moran then mentioned the threat on Johns life Sherlock stood quiet, shaming himself for rattling off and possibly agitating the man. But soon he heard it, his friend's voice echoed loudly as he glanced around again this time in hope. John's urge to give no cooperation was somewhat tempting considering who it was that stood before him, but of all the things that Sherlock risked during the chase over the years John wasn't going to be one of them. Hearing Mary mutter to Moran that she had intended John to keep unconscious he internally smirked, keeping his manner calm all the while rejoicing inside knowing too well that if she had truly wanted to knock him out she would have.

That a girl, Mary.

Looking to Moran he still had a problem to face, where was Moriarty? What did they want from him? How was Sherlock going to get John and Mary out of there? When it came to Mary he assumed that if she had the ability to get out herself (which was usually the case) then she wouldn't be there now, so it was clear that they had a hold on her with something. Perhaps they had made a copy of the flash-drive somehow? And as for Moriarty he was still in slight shock over the idea and was trying his best not to focus on that fact due to the need to create a plan. And John.

"All you needed to do to lure me here was to text or call, knowing me you would have had no trouble in gaining my attention. Why then did you take John as bait? Either way, I may prove to be a bit disagreeable."

 

It didn't take long for Mary to come back to John's side. It did pain her to see him like this, she would be mad if it didn't. "John stop screaming out. Your making me look bad." He sneered, struggling against the chains that held him in place. "Get away from me." In John's mind, he was already thinking of ways to get out of the situation. 

 

"Ah, there's the wit." Moran had a smile across his lips. Circling Sherlock, sizing him up. "Still the carrier of a heart. Even if you don't wish to show it." Moran clicked his tongue as a smirk shot his face. "Casino? No. I've been hiding out here and there. Taking care of a little madman that everyone thought to be dead. Yes, he's still alive. Healing as it is and coming back with a vengeance." Seb clasped his hands before his back as he stopped behind Sherlock. "This is just a little show of strength. That no matter what you do, we can and will hurt you." 

It wasn't that Moran was ignoring Sherlock's question about John, he was merely buying his time before answering it. 

"Sherlock! Don't!" John's voice rang once again in the silence. 

"He's a bigger pawn to play in this story." Moran took out his mobile. Typing at the keys before pressing the button to send the message. "And his outcome will come with yet another warning. You should have left well enough alone, Mr. Holmes." The name was dripping with disdain as it was spoken. "And I should have but that bullet between your eyes when I had the chance." 

John cleared his throat as Mary looked at her mobile. Her eyes were blinking as she read the text several times before placing it back in her pocket. Moving slowly to John, pressing a hand on his forehead before she kissed his lips. "John I am so sorry. One day, I hope you can forgive me. At least for our daughters sake." Sherlock and John both thought that Mary was safe now but her past was always catching up with her. 

Three... two... one...

There was a shot that echoed in the stillness that had taken hold of the warehouse. John's screams seemed to break moments after. Mary let out a heavy sigh, pressing her hand on the button that lowered him to the floor. Thigh. One shot. Would take weeks to heal. "I'm sorry." John tried to reach for her ankle and fell short, whimpering at the pain that now shot through his lower body. 

Moran smiled at Sherlock. "There's your warning." As the scream subsided and Mary rushed back to his side. Cold eyes looking at Sherlock as she spoke. "It's done." Handing a small piece of paper too Moran and heading up the stairs. "It's a game of cat and mouse, Mr. Holmes. And now you are allowed to go to your piece of cheese." Moran darted after Mary and they door closed with a heavy thud. 

 

When Sherlock heard him speak of always being able to hurt him he wasn't worried, only when John's voice rang out into the great space did his blood still in realization. He knew now that hurting him meant hurting John, possibly killing him, the one friend he had in this world to count on. Every fiber of his being was urging him to run towards where John was when Moran continued to describe him as a pawn, Sherlock could only scowl at himself for letting all of this happen.

Then the shot sounded, ears ringing in the echo of the loud bang as his panicked voice rose above it.

"John?! JOHN?!"

He was frozen to the spot, completely forgetting himself when he heard John screaming in pain, it was all he could do to keep himself rooted there while Moran growled at him. He had underestimated the hold they had on Mary, their cunning, and most of all he had underestimated the lengths they would go to get back at them. While Moran and Mary ran off towards the doors Sherlock glared after them, his body shaking with rage as his gloved fists were clinched.

"If he dies, you'll not live long after!"

His fear and anger was getting the better of him as he didn't wait for them to leave entirely before rushing towards John, seeing the blood his stomach turned in the wild thought that the wound might be fatal. He took off his scarf and quickly knelt beside him, releasing him from the chains and binding the leg quickly and though the injury wasn't as awful as he feared it was enough blood to nearly put John into shock.

"Calm down. Don't struggle, lean on me. Breath deep, stay calm."

Sherlock tried his best to contain the situation, inside he felt his heart racing, he had let the cab leave and the roads were quiet that night.

 

Where was he? He couldn't remember as he lay on the floor. Blood pulling around him. John's word seemed to be in a dizzy haze at the moment. He knows that the chains are being lifted from him and screams despite himself when Sherlock's scarf is wrapped around his wound. If he was struggling against the man that was trying to save his life, John didn't notice it. Biting on his lower lip, trying to focus on Sherlock's voice and not the ringing in his ears. John did as instructed, leaning against Sherlock not only for physical support but whatever he could muster mentally as well. 

 

Finely, the struggle for deep breathes came and John found it easier, less painful to suck in the much needed air. A hand tight around the fabric at Sherlock s knee as he tried to remember. "She fucking kissed me." His breath still labored as remembered small details. He didn't curse much but couldn't help himself. "Bloody... told me to take care of our daughter..." More pain seemed to shot through his nerves as he spoke.

"Had the." John continued to focus on his breathing. "She told me." His voice was catching in his throat. God help him if the tears start falling now. 

"Sherlock, she told me she loved me." The statement finally came out with a broken sob. "And then she bloody shot me." And just like that, John's mental wall was up. Keeping all forms of sentiment from spilling from his lips. The always steady doctor was shaking from the pain, from the emotions that he was trying to bury. "I don't... I don't care what the reason is this time. You don't..." He couldn't finish it. 

John knew that their was no way out of this place. Just hoping that Sherlock would keep his wits long enough to get them out. "Well, this is going to take time to heal." He chuckled finally. Trying to keep the atmosphere from being so thick with betrayal. 

"Listen." John didn't move from his leaning but let his voice soften a bit, knowing that Sherlock would most likely blame himself. "None of this is your fault." After all their years together, John knew Sherlock by now. "Are you listening to me, Sherlock? It's not so don't even start with the sulking and self blame." He risked slipping a hand into the Belstaff pocket and dragging out Sherlock's phone. 

Level headed. That was key now. "Text Mycroft. Tell him to get us the hell out of this place now. God I feel dizzy." Even the smallest of movements was enough to make the blood drain from his head. Mary had managed to shot the femoral artery but the scarf tight around his thigh was making it slow. The throbbing painful and almost to much to bare.

 

John's stuttering and rambling of Mary was almost as terrible to Sherlock as the wound that Mary had caused, he had no idea what to say or do for him in regards to such a moment. The struggle that John was feeling when it came to Mary was beyond his powers to deal with and he was feeling sick inside because of it. Trying to keep still so as not to pain John more with his leg he also heard John's voice change, the tone nearly sounding like Sherlock's own sense of disinterest which concerned him.

When John then mentioned that the wound would take some time to heal there was another pang that hit his stomach, his eyes wide as he to focus even with the confusion, usually he was fine under such pressure but this moment was very different. Clearing his throat almost in an attempt to co-en-side with John's chuckle, but he was a bit too shaken up to keep his mind on appearances as he supported John's weight, he was so discombobulated that he was debating on carrying John all the way to the nearest apartments for help.

"Are you listening to me, Sherlock? It's not so don't even start with the sulking and self blame."

These words seemed to ring in his head but he couldn't quite register them, blinking as he was too concerned at the moment for John's health.

"No This - this conversation can wait, John. You... Need to get to a hospital."

Sherlock stammered as he glanced around, almost in hopes to see a solution. It was a good thing that John was thinking more clearly as he saw John bring out his phone from his coat pocket. Not bothering to text he called Mycroft, telling him the situation and where they were. When John mentioned feeling dizzy Sherlock moved him slowly towards a place where he could sit.

"Breath, John. Raise your arms a bit."

 

John's head was nothing but fuzz. Nerves fried by the time Sherlock's command reached him. Feeling sick to his stomach, John breathed as deep as he dared, feeling his mouth water more with each inhale of air. It didn't seem to take long that sirens were blaring from the distance, as the seconds seemed to inch by, John felt more and more like he was going to pass out.

 

"What have you been doing, brother mine?" 

Mycroft voice seemed to appear out of nowhere and it was all the John could do not to roll his eyes. Paramedics flood the warehouse as Mycroft wrapped an arm around Sherlock's. "Come now. Let them do what they are paid for." John has a mask over his face and groans as he's placed on the stretcher. Mycroft arching a brow as they take John outside. "Care to explain to me what happened, Sherlock?" Cold eyes look at him as the question is spoken.

The air outside was as cold as he felt. John's mind racing now that he wasn't in the confides of the warehouse. His beloved Mary. How could she? Deep breathes, that's all he could do at the moment. Deep breathes and hope to God that he didn't pass out. He remembers being given an IV before his eyes roll back into his head. 

It didn't seem like days. The nightmares coming and going. Several different times, he'd screamed out something the nurses couldn't understand. A mix between everything that had happened and war tearing through his mind. It was the sound of a heart machine moments later that seemed to bring him back to the now. 

"How long?" John kept his eyes closed. Not really expecting anyone to answer. 

 

Sherlock was doing his best to keep John awake as well as possible, looking around for any sign of help to come to them. Finally when the ambulance came it took Mycroft's strong arm to pull his little brother away from the scene, Sherlock not even having recognized that he had spoken to him. All the while that the paramedics worked he tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on, the lights and people moving too quickly even for him to anticipate while Mycroft kept asking him about the events that had transpired.

When John was placed on the stretcher he wanted to follow but didn't, knowing that they needed to move quickly and that he would just be in the way as they moved him outside. It took several minutes for him to finally speak, telling his older brother what had happened. His brother using this time to make calls concerning Moran while Sherlock took a cab to the hospital.

"About a day and a half now."

Sherlock's voice came out into the small room, answering when John finally woke up. He'd been there the moment John had come out of the ER, having waited for hours while they fixed up his leg. Sitting next to the bed he held a book, though his mind hadn't really been paying enough attention to it to read, it was merely there for show then anything else.

"How are you feeling?"

 

John groaned a bit when he learned how long he'd been out. "Christ, get these monitors and tubes off me. I can't sit here while she's out there." It took a moment for Sherlock's question to register. "Like I've been shot, Sherlock." The moment that the statement left his lips John immensity felt bad about it. Sitting up the best he could, John lowered his head. "Look, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Arching a brow as he glances at the book. "Beekeeping. Really not your style, Sherlock." He let out a chuckle hoping that it would clear the thickness in the room. 

 

"And you can stop pretending to read it, yeah." John knew better. "Thank you. For saving my life, Sherlock. I owe you many drinks." He cleared his throat as the doctor entered the room. "We are going to be keeping you another night for the sake of observation. Nothing more. A cane or crutches for a few weeks until it heals enough. You'll gain full mobility back so no worries there." She glanced at Sherlock. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something?"

South Cambridge

"Here. Here and here." Mary was pointing at the spots on a map hanging on the wall. "They always go everywhere together and are fiercely protecting to a fault." Moran was sitting in the chair across the way and chuckled. "Even Moriarty knew that separating them was the way to beat them both. You make Sherlock self doubt himself, do something that might hurt John and he's putty." Mary swallowed the lump in her throat. "Sentiment, dear Mary." The Irish accent thick in the air. "You're too far gone now and it isn't going to do you any good."

Mary turned to look at him. "Neither of them deserve to die, Seb." Cold eyes staring a hole through him. "Ah, but both of them do, darling Mary. And before I draw my last breathe, it will either be the consulting detective or his little run after." 

 

"No, John, you're staying there."

Sherlock said trying to sound strict like a doctor would as he heard John protest to the tubes and machines, when his comment about being shot however rang in the room he stood very still, the pit of his stomach cold and ill in the words as he tried to show a disinterested stare which obviously didn't work. His apology registered and he nodded lightly in reply, the words still in his mind he made an effort to turn his attention to the book he mentioned.

"Oh, it's... just something I picked up."

He said in a light tone as he tossed the book back into the chair he had been occupying it, his remark about the pretending to read it was shrugged off. When John also said that he owed him drinks he felt another feeling of guilt set, but he used another excuse for the uncomfortable appearance he couldn't help but give.

"Uh, well John, the last time I drank I had to buy a new rug... I'm not entirely sure I want to buy another."

The doctor coming into the room was the perfect time to step back a bit and put the small book into his pocket, hearing the doctor's words gave him a little relief to John's condition. When she then offered that he have something he shook his head with a hand up in a slight smile.

"Oh no, thank you. I'm fine."

When the doctor left Sherlock looked to John again, his hands behind him as he spoke.

"Do you want me to bring you anything? I can run out and get your laptop for you."

 

John seemed a little taken back with Sherlock's concern. Even more so when he asked if he wanted him to go get his laptop. "Are you sure you're not the one that needs to be in this bed?" John's face became long before he spoke again. "Nope. No, Sherlock. I asked you in the warehouse not to do this to me. I'm going to be feeling worse if you blame all this on yourself. I'm begging you, as my best friend, as a brother to me, please don't. I need you by my side, not sulking about what went wrong and how you are at fault."

 

The words came out faster than he wanted but there was a pain shooting from his leg and he turned the morphine up a bit. "For me." John gave Sherlock the best stern look that he could muster at the present moment. "I don't need you falling apart on me, now." He huffed a sigh. "I'll be doing it enough for the both of us." John moved a bit at the thickness of the conversation. Since Sherlock's return everything in his life seemed to be flipped upside down and now this. It was almost to much to handle. 

"Fine." He breathed in an angry sigh, gripping Sherlock by the shirt and pulling his closer. "Find her. Don't do anything to hurt her but you find her. Since it's apparent that I'm not to move at all." John's eyes were laced heavy with emotion. "But you promise me, that you don't die either." Letting go of the shirt, John turned his head to the side. "Bloody fantastic." 

Sherlock stood slightly stiff at the moment that John started on about the guilt and self blaming, a mix of several replies were going through his head such as 'I don't sulk, I mull.' 'But it was my fault.' 'You need your rest.' but as it registered that he had been in a way called brother he bit his tongue. It was clear that John needed him, there and collected, even if shaken up a bit. He would be that for him, he was determined to be.

It had taken him aback some that John had picked up the subtleties that most everyone else missed, he remembered the first time that John had noticed something was wrong with him. In their very first case when the taxi arrived for him at the flat when John had asked him if he was okay Sherlock had replied with 'Yea, yea. I'm fine.', that's how it usually was when he wasn't all that okay or perhaps disturbed by a realization. He'd repeat his words a bit, and that was how it was from then on, when he repeated himself John knew better then to believe the 'I'm fine.' parts.

He hadn't done so now, though perhaps the pretending to read part was what gave it away this time. Either way he stood as his usual self at this moment, calm and collected, just what John needed at that time. Even as John turned up the morphine Sherlock masked the twinge, and as John pulled at his shirt to give him instruction he kept his expression clear and focused, listening to his friends wish to find Mary. It was a lot to ask Sherlock at that moment considering that he wanted to stay by John and protect him if something went wrong, but he couldn't refuse the wish as he nodded assuredly to him.

"Yes, John. I'll do this, I swear to it."

Sherlock said clearly and with a tone of determination, being released by his friend's grip he stood straight and knowing there wasn't much else to say to comfort him he left. He knew that Mycroft had the hospital under watch after the events that took place so now Sherlock needed to go, to find out where she was.

 

"Yes, John. I'll do this, I swear to it."

 

These were the words that echoed in John's mind as he laid in the darkness. Nothing more than the light shinning through the little window in the door. He was alone, for the most part. Hoping that Sherlock would do the right thing by him but of course, it is Sherlock. Only know did John allow himself to feel the emotions that had been boiling since yesterday, not being able to help as the tears flowed from the corner of his eyes. His wife, turned what the hell she was now, to him it was the last straw. His daughter, Christ how he loved that baby girl. In the few short months after her birth it was nothing more than bliss and now it was being ripped away from him. Once steady hands now trembling with emotion reached over and turned up the morphine, he didn't want to feel right now.

Closing his eyes, only then did they register that the door was being open and more light flooded into the darkness. "Sherlock, I'm..." As heavy lids open to the sight of a head of blonde hair, his words were cut off. "Come to finish the job." John's voice was cold as he spoke. The door is closed, the shadow moves in the darkness but slowly. "No." Mary's voice was soft. John didn't even look at her, playing will the mobile that was left on the table, quickly texting Sherlock and setting it down. 

"You have nothing that I want to hear, Mary. I just want to know that my daughter is safe." That's when he turned his attention to her, only then did John notice the red dot on his chest. "Really, I'm in a hospital bed." She chuckled. "It's for your protection, not mine. I was hoping that Sherlock was here but I guessed you got him away." The conversation mulled a little. Some anger shooting here and there but nothing major. John didn't want nurses coming in and he suspected that neither did Mary. She finally rose, pressing over the rail of the bed. "When you get well enough, the game will once again be on. Moran doesn't want his mouse being injured when he plays." Mary leaned over to his ear. "I'm truly sorry, John but you can't help me this time." He closed his eyes with the words and when he opened them again, she was gone. 

 

Sherlock decided not to take a cab from the hospital, feeling that the walk down town might help him to think on the charge of finding Mary. His train of thought would go on this for a little while before it somehow faded onto something different, or rather onto a memory of the time he had tried to mend what it was John and Mary had after Sherlock had been shot. He'd try again only to trail off into thoughts of the wedding and how he hadn't known then what she was, or when he'd seen John's face within the small confines of the wheel chair after hearing some of the truth about her cover up.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand, his thoughts didn't want to stay there when the guilt of all that had happened began to seep into his chest like a poison. This of course, was just what Moran and Moriarty wanted, they couldn't kill him outright, not without leverage. John was the perfect tool to use to get into Sherlock's mind, to bring doubt into it and to twist it to their advantage, to watch the detective crumble underneath the weight of his own failures.

It was not until he heard his phone chime from a text that he stopped walking on the street, having only been going at a slow pace. Seeing the text he raced back, he might have dropped his scarf in the quick change of pace had he not used it earlier for John's wound and was now without one. The pavement smacked beneath his shoes and Sherlock's arrival might have been obvious to the sniper that watched John's window but it seemed that they took no great pains to prove it letting him go inside.

Inside the hospital he glanced around, she had to have passed him in the hall somehow, or maybe had been waiting in some hidden corner or another. How stupid he'd been, an idiot. There was no time for that now, he had to find her there, somehow. But even if he did what then? Would he confront her? Just ask her where she was going and get the address? He took in his surroundings for a moment and after seeing someone moving scrubs into a closet nearby he paused in thought, knowing what would be the least expected.

Some time after that while walking into John's room the 'doctor' closed the door behind him, picking up the clip board at the end of the bed as was routine, checking the devices at the side of the bed, routine, and finally coming over to the window and closing the curtains and blinds, routine but more for safety reasons. Sherlock had suspected that someone else was watching John, Mary probably wouldn't have come there otherwise. Turning around and rubbing at the eye brows and side burns he had quickly smudged on himself he spoke, knowing John could tell it was him but from the window no one else would have guessed.

"I passed her in the hall coming back."

 

"I passed her in a dream." 

 

John's head was moving like it was in a fog toward Sherlock's voice. A giggle of sorts escaped his lips. Holding onto his side. "You make a good doctor." He rose his finger to wipe a tear from his eye before he spoke again. "If you don't get me out of here, they are going to kill me. You can't tell me any different. And I know." He patted the 'doctor' on the hand. "They are going to use me to get to you. I'm not that big of an idiot but I can't do anything in this bloody bed."

John sighed. "I can't see the sun right now. You closed the bloody blinds on me." The morphine was starting to make him a tad bit loopy. "My life for the past three years has been nothing more than a lie." John closed his eyes, letting everything wash over him. "Find her. Bloody hell, you and that brilliant mind find her. I know that you can. Don't let sentiment cloud your judgement. Your a fucking blood hound for Christ sake." 

John's body went limp. The drugs finally doing what they were designed to do. 

 

Sherlock glanced back to John in a concerned expression, his eyes staring down at him in his ramblings. He had been right about one thing though, they could very well kill him if he stayed there, crowded hospitals might have done well to keep people alive from injuries and illness that already occured but it also allowed very easy access for others to slip through the ranks and step into any room they really pleased and finish the job. He was standing in the doctor's outfit to prove that very point, even if he hadn't realized it until now.

When John finally fell into the drug induced rest Sherlock watched him in thought, John had been wrong on one point so far. They weren't going to use him against the seemingly cold detective, because they already had, they had already burrowed into his emotions through John's injuries and no matter what he tried Sherlock couldn't shake that guilt, the vision of the blood, the scream of his friend in that warehouse. He had to get John out of there and back to Baker Street, by any means possible.

He contacted his brother, one thing that he never really liked to do in such cases but it was a desperate one. And sooner then they knew it John was home, a set up of equipment that was only necessary was put there for any further treatment he might need. It was a good thing that the injury hadn't been more then a shot to the leg or else it might not have been possible, it was much easier to have Mycroft's men watch Baker Street then a full hospital.

Sherlock sat at his computer, pouring over websites and maps on the screen trying to find any sign of cracking the case, a small business card sat next to it, one that he had pick pocketed from Mary. He hadn't slept since it had all began, of course, he usually did that but this was somewhat different.

 

John didn't know that he was being moved. The drugs had kept him out of it for the most part. It was his dreams, those haunting nightmares that woke him up screaming all those many nights before, were still there. Only this time, it's replaced by Mary's sweet face. Her voice, taunting him. It was so much worse than before. A cold sweat beading from his brow, John woke with an arm outstretched before him. As his focus came back, he knew that he was in Baker St. The one place that he always felt safe. His small room filled with the equipment that he needed to get better. 

 

Running a hand over his face, John unhooked the I.V. that was in his left arm. His doctor skills deducing himself so to speak. Feet planted on the floor, he was slowly starting to become aware of how he got back and didn't remember it. A flip of a switch and the morphine is turned off. Right now, he didn't need it but he would come back if he did. Grabbing the robe on the back of the chair, John slowly made his way down the step of stairs to the bottom flat. 

"You need rest or you won't be any good to anyone." John's voice still raw with emotion from the dreams. Moving slowly to the kitchen, he gripped the back of the chair. A dull throbbing in his leg. "Would you like some tea?" John never was one with much concern for himself. Always others, and as slow and painful as moving was at the moment, he wasn't about to go another minute without his beloved tea. 

 

Sherlock could faintly hear John moving down the stairs, he wished that he had been able to set him up in his own room until the wound had healed but with all the equipment he knew that they would need outlets and his room was limited in working ones. He didn't move from his seat, staring at the computer screen still in search the locations of the business on the card, he was able to narrow the search some but he needed more to figure out which branch.

When John said that he needed to rest Sherlock merely grunted a slight reply, this was his usual retort for such a comment about his habits, and though this wasn't exactly normal circumstances he wanted to make it as normal as he could in their flat. As John then mentioned the tea Sherlock took in a deep breath as he leaned back in this chair, buttoning his jacket before he stood.

"Good idea, I'll help... Been staring at that screen for about five hours now at least."

He said as he stretched and came over to the kitchen, opening the pantry and searching for the tea. Sherlock didn't like that John was up and about on the leg but he could understand too that being stuck in his room might be giving him trouble so he said nothing of it. He somewhat hoped that the violin was out of John's sight, he hadn't been playing fully but he had been plucking the strings with was a slight habit when he was troubled by something.

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter was written by myself and my main Sherlock. I have permission from the writer to do this so yeah. None of that. It's an ongoing story line and time jumps from time to time. But I do hope you enjoy it.


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